I’m never one to gloat. I tend to down play even the biggest of achievements or happiest of times. No one likes a boaster. But sadly, I just can’t keep schtum about my last holiday. Like an annoying town cryer, I just have to keep on yelling about it.
A week in Ibiza at Villa Cybaura. Nestled into the craggy cliff edge of northern Ibiza is the villa of Cyberdog owner Spiros Vlahos. If you don’t know what Cyberdog is, just picture Gatecrasher kids circa 1999; neon face paint, GloSticks, furry boots. You get the picture? Before you smirk, let me tell you, Mr Cyberdog has had the last laugh.
With the dollars earned selling trippy clothes to club kids, Villa Cybaura was born. And let me shout about it, this villa has it all. Five double bedrooms of varying decor, ranging from a Geisha’s temple complete with circular bed to a Moroccan den all swathes of green silk and four poster dark wood bed. The decor isn’t to everyone’s natural taste, but it is understated and playful in equal measure. A mesmerising lighting display, melts over the house come night fall, nodding to it’s Cyber heritage.
A swimming pool has been built into the cliff, with a cascade splashing down into it from the rocks surrounding. A stony path leads to a hot tub that’s perched on the cliff edge and looking out to nothing but sea and the horizon.
Five different sun terraces mean that cocktail hour is in a different place each evening while hammocks, trampolines and tipis are hidden in the surrounding woodland waiting to be explored.
I won’t go on about the plasma screen tv for watching (us get kicked out of) the World Cup, the full size snooker table or the 9 bathrooms. That would just be rude.
It wasn’t all a competition as to who could to be the best lounge lizard. The pool was soon filled with volleyball nets for a round of ball punching and treading water.
The table tennis next to the kitchen was the perfect place to burn off a mid afternoon BBQ paunch.
The nearby island of Formentera provided a flat but sweltering backdrop for cycling, then cooling off in crystal clear sea. Jumpsuit optional.
The sun deck, an ideal place for morning yoga. Facing the ocean to do the tree pose is enough to inspire even the least likely candidates to join in – trust me half of this lot pictured had never lifted a thigh above their knees before, but look at them – ta da.
A pedalo at sunset in nearby Benirras beach is the ideal way to sweat out a hangover. Getting one with a slide in jelly infested waters is just foolish. But then I am quite.
Swimming in the sea however was possible, once you’d side-stepped the balletic balls of jelly waiting to lash you with their wispy tentacles. Yeouch. But when you have your own private cove, it’s worth the risk. (Slap me now). Three out of 11 people were stung. But no one was permanently scarred in the making of this holiday.
We even adopted a cat soon named Carol. Turns out Carole’s a boy.
A week of eating, drinking, splashing, purring, stretching, cycling and a healthy dose of partying in between. Heaven. I promise not to mention it again.
Thanks to Carrie Hancox and Eoin Hegan for the snaps.